


The Hound and the Little Bird

by ladolcevita211



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, Dubious Consent, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Smut, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-06-09 20:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15276072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladolcevita211/pseuds/ladolcevita211
Summary: BOTB divergence - if Sansa had gone with the Hound. Dubcon warning! Not your typical fluffy sansan fic hopefully





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: dubcon
> 
> I've aged Sansa up in this fic - 18 and he's around 27. That's the age range I'm comfortable with because there will be some definite dubcon. As well, Sansa isn't super innocent and timid. That's what I'd prefer when writing this story. 
> 
> I haven't read the books, so the version I'm writing definitely follows the portrayal of Sandor and certain scenes from the series.
> 
> I also have absolutely no idea where this is going. At all. I know there are a lot of BOTB divergence fics already, and I'm definitely inspired by redcandle17's 'Songbird' and Squidproquo's 'Cost Benefit Analysis'. Hopefully this will offer something different though. It's my very first fic so I would appreciate suggestions/comments/constructive criticisms!

**Sansa**

The air felt thick with the smell of burning and there was a glow that illuminated the winding corridors - not moonlight, but hazy, green light. It's wildfire. Sansa had studied enough with Maester Luwin to recognize the weapon deployed in the bay and she shuddered. It did not surprise her even in war the Lannisters were unmatched in cruelty. The screams of Stannis' men were the screams of a slow, agonizing death. _There will be no mercy,_ she realized grimly, _if Joffrey prevails._

The only clear object remaining in her mind was to flee. Not like Arya, who would take the chaos as an opportunity to escape with her freedom, or die trying, but Sansa would escape to the sanctuary of her room. There she could wait.

For once, she was far from indifferent to her fate. She had prayed along with the other court ladies in Cersei's chambers for the safety and success of Joffrey, but that was a lie. Joffrey was psychotic and her very existence depended on her ability to maintain a facade of loyalty. Stannis gaining victory might not mean her freedom - she was still a valuable political pawn and that would not be forgotten. However, anything was better than being at the mercy of Joffrey's deranged whims.

Finally reaching her chamber doors, she opened them and bolted her door. She leaned against it, realizing for the first time how wildly her heart was beating. She was afraid. This was not a new emotion; Sansa was always afraid in King's landing. However, there was another emotion that jolted through her veins. Hope, and even a bit of daring. She could almost taste freedom, it felt so close, and she did not intend to watch it get ripped to shreds before her eyes.

She had come here to be alone, but there was movement from her bed. Before she had a chance to scream, the figure crossed the room and covered her mouth.

'Hush, little bird. Don't let every soldier in King's Landing know you're here,' he rasped.

She smelled the alcohol on his breath, but she knew it was the Hound. She knew the thought should not comfort her, but against every other instinct she felt a wave of relief. 'What are you doing here,' she breathed, when he released her. He still stood over her, glowering down at her.

He laughed roughly. 'Doing here, little bird? Not here for long. Going someplace that isn't fucking burning. North, might be.'

She stared at him. The room was dark, but the glow of the wildfire lit the the scarred side of his face. His scars were even more grotesque in this light, but for once she didn't notice. She was caught by the look in his eyes. It was penetrating and wild - the bloodlust and heat still running through them. Yet she also recognized an undercurrent of desire that flashed in his eyes, noticing suddenly how close his body was to hers.

He lowered himself so they were level, leaning further into her body and whispered possesively, 'I could take you with me. I'll keep you safe.'

For an agonizing moment she was silent, staring at him in shock. She willed herself to speak, looking wildly for an excuse: 'Take me with you? But Stannis won't hurt me.' The moment it left her lips, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. She cursed herself silently, as she watched his eyes flash and she turned away to avoid his ire.

'Look at me,' he growled, gripping her face tightly: 'Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer. Your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday. The world is built by killers, so you better fucking get used to looking at them.'

His face was dark with anger and he grabbed Sansa and within a few strides pushed her roughly on the bed. 'Do you know what men do to women they find in battle?' he leered down at her, roughly pressing his body against her. 'Do you know what would have happened if I hadn't risked my neck the day of the riots? You would have been raped bloody and no one would have given a shit. Ruined and left for dead.' His voice drops as he looks into her eyes, and he leans to kiss her neck. Barely audibly, he whispers, 'Little thanks I've gotten for that, little bird.'

Anger was coursing through her, at his threat, but looking into his eyes she felt a strange wave of desire sweep through her body. Heat was pooling in her body, despite the helplessness of her position.

'Sing,' he said, pressing his dagger against her throat. 'I'll have a song from you, one way or another, little bird.'

She knew he expected Florian and Jonquil, or some other love song, but she was defiant that he would not receive what he wanted. Instead, she sang the Mother's Hymn.

_Gentle mother, font of mercy,_

_save our sons from war, we pray,_

_stay the swords and stay the arrows,_

_let them know a better day._

_Gentle Mother, strength of women,_

_help our daughters through this fray,_

_soothe the wrath and tame the fury,_

_teach us all a kinder way._

He tensed as she began her song, his grip tightening on his dagger, suprise flooding his features. When her voice at last trailed off at the last verse, he dropped the dagger on the floor, looking anywhere but her face.

Suddenly she pitied him. She remembered his drunken confession of his scars - his brother, ruthlessly mutilating his face in fire when he was only a child. The wildfire, enough to make any man run in fear, could not help but paralyze him. She reached towards him, gently touching his scars. He stiffened but did not flinch away. She felt there was a wetness that was blood, but also a wetness that was not blood.

She turned his face towards her, mirroring his earlier words in everything but tone, 'Look at me,' she breathed, unsure what she was doing. His eyes met hers and she saw in the darkness much had settled, but that desire still stormed there unabated.

He swayed over her again, whispering, 'Is that my thanks, little bird?'

Sansa willed herself to turn away, to push him away, yet her breath caught and she could only freeze. He leaned down and she felt his lips against her own, the scarred side rough and demanding, the unscarred softer and tender. She remained still, and at a loss, but the warmth was returning to her body. Against her better instincts she breathed into his kiss, returning it.

His hands were on her neck, one moving to her waist, brushing over her breast, eliciting a moan from her. He froze at the sound, as if roused from a dream. He raised his eyes, staring at Sansa, and she felt heat rising in her face.

'Drunk as a dog, damn me,' he growled, shifting away from her. 'The sooner I'm away from this place...' he said, as if to himself. And in an instant, he was at the door, lifting the bolt and leaving.

'Wait!' She called at the last moment, as if fate had twisted her hand. He stilled, and Sansa darted towards him, touching his back. 'Let me come with you.'

He turned slowly, and she dropped her hand, the forwardness of her position instantly all too apparent. Yet she stared at him defiantly, not betraying the fear she felt.

He laughed harshly saying, 'Don't you realize what this means, little bird? What I might do to you? I'm not one of your fucking sers, content with a chaste kiss.' He stopped, and lowered his voice: 'If you come with me, I'll have a song from you.'

Sansa knew this was not an empty threat. His desire was clear, and while he had saved her from rapists in the past, she knew what he wanted from her. Yet, he was kind to her in his own way - she would be safe with him. And, there was even a small part of her, a part that she fought against, that felt aroused by his desire, even by his desire to take her without her consent.

However, more than anything, she would not let another opportunity for escape slip through her fingertips. 'You said you'd keep me safe,' she countered. 'Take me home.'

'Aye,' he said, his eyes unfathomable. 'I'll keep you safe.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot less dialogue in this one. I think I just wanted to explain some of Sandor's thought process but I didn't want to completely rehash the dialogue from the previous chapter?
> 
> Leo Tolstoy quote because it's beautiful <3

**Sandor**

His world was spinning before him, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness. He wasn't sure if it was the Dornish red, the wildfire, or just being in the little bird's chambers, but he felt lost in a haze.

It's not like this wasn't what he intended - hell, he wasn't sure what he planned when he found his way to her chambers. It was instinct more than anything, the same as drawing his sword on his opponent in battle. It was natural. He needed her.

He wanted her willing - for her to follow him North and let him take her from the scum of King's Landing, spread her legs for him without reluctance... At this thought he grimaced, admitting wryly to himself even in dreams it was ludicrous she would give herself to him without coercion. 

And as much as he despised himself for it, he knew he would have her even unwillingly. He had watched her grow from girl to woman - and a beautiful one. It had been an age since he fucked a whore without red hair and not imagined it was Sansa Stark...

He had lusted after her for so long, and he'd be damned if he let any other man fuck her sweet cunt first when it was rightfully his. Hadn't he saved her from the clutches of rapists when no one else would rescue her? He deserved this reward; better him than the soldiers that would pillage and rape when the battle was inevitably lost, he reasoned to himself.

And as he stood over her, watching the fear flick across her face and her chest heave, he couldn't help but want her. The way she bit her lip in concentration, a loose tendril of curl escaping from her hair was enough to make him harden and take her then and there. Even her fucking naivety in thinking Stannis would protect her, despite enraging him, fueled his desire - the desire to fuck her and take her roughly so she'd remember him as her first, understand that all men are the same in their base desires, and none of them any better than him...

But her fucking song, damn the little bird. Trust her to subvert his intentions so perfectly by singing the Mother's Hymn. For the moment, that stopped him; his anger and pain washed away by her soothing voice and gentle touch. His mind stilled, able to see clearly.

But when she turned his face towards her and touched his scars, he could almost swear there was a little desire that clouded her eyes, and that was invitation enough. It wasn't often he got what he wanted, and he wasn't going to miss this opportunity to taste something so sweet.

He kissed her, and when she sighed into his kiss, his hands lingered on her body, ghosting over skin. Her breathless moan as his hand drifted to her waist broke his lustful trance, and in that moment she was simply his little bird - naive and innocent, completely at his mercy.

So he stopped. He turned his back on her and left, away from her scent, her intoxicating presence, her hair like fire. He stepped away, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.

And like in a half-forgotten dream, he felt her touch and her voice from far away calling him to wait. And he knew he was lost, his resolve drained. He would not deny himself, but he gave her what was left to give, all that he could offer her, promising, 'I'll keep you safe.'

He watched as she gathered her belongings quickly in the gloom, his eyes following her movements. He knew she sensed his gaze, her hands involuntarily brushing her hair away from her face and touching her brow with unease. He wondered vaguely if she was more afraid to stay or to go. _Better not think on that_ , he mused, taking his flask and drinking the Dornish red.

She was ready to leave, her belongings meagre and bare. 'I have everything,' she said tentatively, looking up at him for the first time since she told him to take her home.

'Is that what you're wearing?' he grimaced at her, wondering what possessed her to think a courtly dress was appropriate. 'Don't you have something plainer?' he growled. 'We won't make it ten paces outside the keep with you looking like that.'

He strode over to her wardrobe looking through her dresses, finally settling on a plain blue one.

'That's too small,' she moaned, looking at him in annoyance.

'Put it on,' he said roughly. 'Better to be in a small dress than dead, girl.'

She grimaced, but took the dress nonetheless and disappeared behind her screen. The fabric of her dress rustled as he heard her unlace it and step into the new one. It was agonizingly slow - they needed to leave. But he couldn't help but want to still time, step behind her screen, and watch her undress - watch her unlace it, slip it off her shoulders, around the curve of her ass...

When she finally stepped out, the back of her dress loose, she walked towards him, glancing at him only for a moment before asking him, 'Will you lace it up? My handmaiden is gone, and I suppose you'll have to get used to doing it anyway.'

He nodded slightly and stood over her, tracing the curve of her neck with his eyes, the white of her shoulders exposed slightly. He slowly started tightening the laces, watching as her body tensed and her breathing grew ragged in response to his closeness.

When he at last finished, his hands traced her shoulders and he slowly turned her towards him, cupping her face in his hands. There was apprehension in her face, but he sensed no fear. Her pupils were dilated, the blue almost consumed in a sea of black, though whether this was from the dark of the room or her arousal he could not tell. He kissed her anyway, deepening it with his tongue, his body pressed against her small frame.

 _There isn't time to fuck her here_ , he admits, knowing they have at least 3 hard days of riding to put any distance between them and King's Landing, but he needed her body close to him. At last breaking the kiss, he searched her face. Her eyes had fluttered open slowly after, and she looked dazed.

Aye, that had felt good. She was intoxicating and he intended to drink her in, but if he wanted to enjoy his reward, he would need to resist a little longer.

'Come, little bird.' he said almost softly. 'We have miles to go before you sleep.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh such a good world cup final! Was writing this while watching haha so my mind was drifting a bit. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

**Sansa**

It happens in a flash, they're at the stables, and she wonders if he'll give her a horse of her own to ride. But he's only leading Stranger. _So he means to keep me close to him_ , she realizes, her heart pounding harder in her chest.

He grabs her waist, his hands easily encircling it and lifts her on top of Stranger. He joins her, his body pressed against hers, holding her waist perilously close to the curve of her hip. Sansa shivers from the contact, the hairs rising on the back of her neck. But that is all he does, and she almost feels safer with his one hand holding her, as they ride through the courtyard into the darkened streets.

The air is thick with the stench of burning and she's coughing, until he offers her his flask. 'Drink, girl,' he orders, and while she hates wine, she isn't in the mood to argue and acquiesces. It trickles down her throat, the dryness of of her mouth stinging. _I suppose that's his way of being kind,_ she thinks wryly, knowing there will be few moments like these.

They pass through the convoluted streets with relative ease, the people and even guards too fearful of his Kingsguard cloak to stop them. After passing several city gates, Sansa begins to rest easier, almost believing that the escape might be possible. 'Where are we going then?' she ventures, curious as to her fate with him.

He glanced down at her, before replying, 'East might be. Throw them off the trail - they'll expect me to head North with you. If they can put two and two together anyway.'

'And then?' she asked, almost afraid to find out the answer.

'Fuck knows. Find your bloody brother and see about a reward for rescuing you from this lion's den,' he growled.

She stayed silent then, lost in her thoughts, hoping fervently at the East gate they would not meet with much resistance, not allowing herself to imagine the consequences if they did.

His voice interrupted her thoughts with a rabid ferocity, him snarling, 'Put your cloak up.' The crowds were getting thicker around them and Sansa realized they were nearing the walls of the city. He confirmed this, grimacing and saying, 'We're close now and it would be better if those cunts didn't let everyone in King's Landing know you were being kidnapped by the Hound.'

Yet at the gate no one seemed to even notice her, the guards paling in fear at the sight of the Hound, mumbling unintelligibly about the Hand's orders to bar the gates. He dealt with the challenge coldly and efficiently, the nearest guard losing his head, and the others quickly letting him have his way.

Sansa watched this with surprising detachment, the overwhelming emotion she could feel was relief when the guards relented. _I'm growing cold_ , she mused, and the thought didn't sadden her as much as she knew it should have. She didn't think on this for long, for they were out of the city and away from it's walls. _That's_ _it,_ she realized, hardly daring to believe it. She knew it was too early for celebration, but Sansa could not help but feel lighter. Even with the stench of wildfire and burning, the air felt clearer outside. The feeling stayed with her, even as the minutes passed into hours and her body grew stiff and numb from the hours of relentless riding.

He was still holding her tightly to him as they made their way through the countryside, but his hand was wandering lower on her hip, tracing her curves. She tried to ignore it, but warmth was building in her core and she shifted involuntarily against him. He took the opportunity to move lower, cupping her ass, massaging it and she gasped - shock and pleasure so mingled together she couldn't quite tell which was stronger.

'Please,' she begged, 'You shouldn't do that - at least, not here...' She trailed off, surprising herself with that admission, as if she had already accepted it was only a matter of time before he would have his way with her.

He sounded amused at this, but his voice was intense: 'I can because you won't stop me, little bird.' Then he was stroking her thigh, and his hands moved slowly up her body, until he was cupping her breast. Though her mind fought against him, her body betrayed her and her nipples had already stiffened under the tight dress.

'The little bird isn't so adverse to my touch, I see,' his voice sardonic, but traces of surprise there as well. At this he started focusing on her nipples, rubbing his thumb over them, and Sansa felt the warmth build throughout her body. She leaned back against him, as if this would lessen the sensation, inadvertantly exposing her throat and skin to him to ravish.

She felt him breathe in the scent of her hair, murmuring to himself, 'My little bird,' so low she almost didn't catch it. He slowed Stranger to a walk with his free hand on the reins, and he lowered his mouth to her neck, kissing her with surprising softness. _This might not be so terrible,_ she tried to convince herself, as his breath was hot on her neck and his kisses almost tantalizing.

But then he was sucking and biting on her neck, only inches from the skin concealing her racing pulse, his roughness returning. And yet she realized with confusion she still liked it; the very roughness increasing her desire for him. His hand was on her breast and he was twisting her nipple, eliciting soft moans as her body responded to his every touch.

He sensed her responses, with infuriating discernment, like he could read her in a moment, predict her every impulse. She hated how base her reactions were, how easily he opened up her body to him and wore down her defenses. She hated it as strongly as she loved it; her mental confusion mirroring the uncertainty that her body was enthralled in.

Yet even so, he refused to give her what her body clearly betrayed wanting: 'Oh no, we can't stop yet,' he whispered to her, almost amused by her turmoil. 'However much I want to stop and fuck you in this god forsaken place,' he admitted roughly, 'we're still too close to the fucking city, and I don't need deserters coming to steal you away while I'm lost in your sweet cunt.'

She knew she should feel relief, relief that he wouldn't be taking her on the side of a road like an animal, but a part of her was disappointed, a part of her she loathed, a part that was curious and wanted more of his touch.

So he let her go, and he quickened Stranger to a harder pace, as if nothing had happened at all. And yet for her, everything had happened. She felt the familiar feeling of powerlessness, as if her fate was left in the hands of another, yet she also felt a sense of pleasure mixed with fear, and this changed everything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sandor**

It was light by the time he slowed Stranger and started searching for a place to rest. It was far too soon to stop, and he knew the danger it posed. If he was alone he could go on, having endured far longer in the saddle during campaigns with the Lannisters. But Sansa was fading. His hand on her waist to hold her close to him had turned into a grip to keep her on the saddle, as she was dozing in and out of consciousness. 

It was taking time to find a place that suited him. Seclusion was necessary so they weren't discovered, yet he had other reasons for desiring privacy. He had only brought a sleeping mat and, in all his wildest fantasies about Sansa, the setting had been far more intimate than a bed of dirt behind a tree.  _It's not like you'll find a bloody four-poster bed in this god forsaken place,_ he smirked. He wasn't entirely sure why it mattered - he didn't give a shit when he was fucking a whore about whether the setting was private enough. But Sansa was surely different from a mere common whore...

 _A cave in the wilderness_ , he realized, spotting an opening in the slope of forest. _It_ _would be ideal_. And when he searched the cave and determined it to be empty, he made quick work of the camp, simply laying the mat on the floor of the cave. Sansa was fast asleep when he lifted her onto the makeshift bed. He tended to Stranger - brushing and rubbing him down. It was his ritual; he alone tended to Stranger and the long journey had given him renewed respect for the beast. When he finally lay next to her, sleep also drifted over him and his hand found the familiar part of her waist, as he held her near him. 

When he woke, it was dark. The air felt still and heavy, the cold enveloping them.  _Maybe the Starks are right,_ he wryly admitted, _Winter is coming, and like a daft cunt I didn't bring anything warm to this god forsaken place._

It wasn't entirely true: he had Sansa in his arms, warming his bed. He had been hard since waking and as he pulled her close, her ass rested against him. This was the only hint he needed, and he kneaded her ass, feeling her cheek fill his hand as his thoughts strayed towards her cunt. But the slope of her neck, the flesh bared for him, consumed his attention, and with surprising tenderness he felt compelled to kiss her and sear her skin. 

She hazily opened her eyes, and for a moment he was lost in a dream where she wanted him almost as much as he wanted her. But this fantasy arrested as she focused on his face and gasped in what he could only assume was horror. For that, he clasped his free hand over her mouth, anger pulsing in his veins. He snarled, 'Be quiet or the entire forest will know we're here,' and he watched as her eyes continued to widen. 'Does my face still horrify you so much that you can barely look at me without fear?' He sneered at her. 

She struggled under his hand and he released her, if only because he wanted to watch her squirm under his gaze. But she meekly, and so softly that he almost didn't catch it, said, 'I don't despise your face, my Lord.'

He looked at her, almost amused that the little bird had nerve to counter him in such a way.

'I merely was surprised, because I forgot where I was,' she explained quietly and she glanced at him. Her face, which could never conceal a lie, was beseeching, but it was not fearful. 

The sensation was immediate - shock replaced anger and a strange feeling of relief over took him.  _But why do I give a shit if she can look in my face and isn't afraid of me?_ He drove this question to the depth of his mind. Here she was still pressed against him, her body unresisting for him to take, and he'd be damned if he wasted this opportunity. He touched the curve of her ass, his hand drifting closer towards her cunt. She surprised him again, as he felt her involuntarily moan in his arms. Her eyes widened, and he laughed, reveling in the knowledge he was the first to awaken her senses in this way. 

'Be still, little bird,' he whispered softly in her ear, 'You'll learn what it means to get fucked tonight,' and he grabbed her face somewhat more roughly than he intended, and said in an even lower tone, 'and I mean for you to enjoy it.' He laughed and the sardonic edge returned to his voice as he watched her grow even more breathless. 'I'm not your pretty knight, but my cock is better than any of them; and when you're wet, your cunt won't know the difference.' He watched her for a moment, taking in the mass of red waves around her face and her blue eyes filled with trepidation, and he could almost swear they were also cloudy with a shiver of desire.

'Aye, i'll fuck you until you're writhing in my arms and begging for me to fill you with my cum.' His hand stroked her thigh as he moved towards the hem of her dress and he felt her bare skin beneath him, feeling goosebumps, whether from the cold or his touch, he didn't know. She didn't bother to conceal her moans but, as if submitting to him, she was almost wanton in his arms. 

He traced his finger along her inner thighs, and in reaching closer to her cunt, her breath caught. When he reached the juncture of her thighs, where he could feel her heat, he found her already wet. 'Little bird,' he almost laughed in amusement, before his voice became deeper as he leaned into her neck, 'Your cunt is wet for me - it's dripping because you know you're getting fucked by the Hound...' And at that he slipped a finger on her slit, stroking her clit and finding her opening. 'Is this what you need, little bird?' he asked her, and not even waiting for an answer, he slipped his finger inside her cunt, stretching her for the first time.

'Please,' she gasped, her voice waking him from his thoughts.

But what she was begging for, he didn't bother to find out, as he clasped his hand over her mouth again and with intensity said to her, 'Don't stop me, little bird. I intend to make you mine...' and amusement lacing his tone, he whispered, 'and deep down, you'll want it.' Releasing her, he resumed his touch of her cunt, stroking deeper inside her with his finger - first one then two. 'It will hurt, little bird,' he says in a softer tone, kissing her neck. And his fingers reach deeper and with a sharp intake of breath, he knows he has broken her maidenhead. 'Aye, the worst is over, little bird.' 

Without a pause he placed her hand on his hardened cock, and his voice for the first time becoming broken as he groaned an order, 'Touch me,' and he felt her small hand reach to his hardened cock and unlace his trousers. And she stroked his cock, her inexperienced hands found a rhythm, and he could sense her uncertainty being overcome by a desire to please. He was growing close and a new uncertainty overtakes him.  _Am I going to cum as soon as I feel her cunt?_ The thought dissatisfies him, so he stops her.  

She looks at him questioningly, and asks, 'Did I not please you, my Lord?'

He detects the hurt in her tone, and it amuses him. 'No, little bird,' he laughs, 'If I continue, I'll cum in your hand when I would rather be buried in your cunt.' And grabbing her hips he pulled her onto her hands and knees; she inhaled sharply and he could almost feel her uncertainty in her body. Lifting her skirt so her ass was bared for him, he pushed her head down so her back was arched. 'Spread your legs, little bird,' he demanded, and he almost laughed as she so obediently complied with his request. 'You are a good girl,' he admitted, admiring her ass and the curve to her tiny waist. He spread her cheeks, baring her holes for his view, and he felt her tense and her breathing become labored. 'You're mine now - all of you,' he repeated, almost to himself, as if he didn't believe the words and rather willed them to be true.

But her flesh was not a dream, and as he touched her glistening cunt, she arched into his touch. This was invitation enough, and he placed the tip of his cock against her cunt, rubbing towards her clit, her wetness glistening on his cock.  _No need for spit_ , he realized, remembering whores first sucking his cock so it was wet and easier to take. 

He reached down to touch her clit, knowing she would like it, and almost willing her to like it. She responded to this and moaned into his arm, begging him, 'please, oh please, that feels...' Her voice trailed off as he entered her swiftly, uncertain if she could take it but needing her so badly he didn't care. 'Gods, you're tight, little bird,' he groaned as he plunged into her, and by the stiffening of her body he could tell it was painful for her. He only willed that it would become better as he stroked in and out. However, he was too distracted by the feeling of pleasure building to think on this as he neared completion, and groaning, he pulled out and came all over her ass.

In the moments after this, his clarity was heightened and he realized fully the implications of his actions... Sansa Stark was covered in his cum, having had the life seemingly fucked out of her and she lay on the ground exhausted.

A sense of shame suddenly overtook him, and even a measure of regret as he stared at the product of lust. He needed to be alone, and he left her on the mat. She turned to stare at him. His only response was to throw a cloth towards her from the saddlebags, and in a tone harsher than he intended he said, 'Clean yourself up, I'll find us some water. There's provisions in the bag - I'm starving, so get something together so we don't starve to death in this fucking cave.' 

And then he was gone, and Sansa was left alone to dwell on her emotions. 


End file.
